More Than A Feeling
by JoieWilder
Summary: Six months after a curse forced the brothers to do things they never would've considered, neither Sam or Dean are the same. When lovers start to murder their partners, Sam and Dean jump on the case, but their exterior masks begin to crack when the truth is revealed. This case could either bring them closer than ever before or send them on separate paths for good. Wincest
1. Chapter 1

As promised, here is the first chapter of More Than A Feeling. This is a sequel to Cursed, so you'll probably want to read that first if you're just now stumbling onto this. As I write, I am going to try to keep the setting ambiguous, so that you, the reader, can see this take place at any point you prefer.

With this one, I introduce Dean's perspective and will continue to shift between them both for the duration. This one is _supposed_ to be less sex-centric, but if this first chapter is anything to go by, there will definitely be plenty of smut.

Do you like? Do you not like? Let me know! I love feedback from my readers.

Rated M for GRAPHIC sex, including hot brother sexing action. If you don't like Wincest, I suggest you skip this fic.

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><p>Dean sat down at the table across from Sam. He'd just been to the bathroom with one of the waitresses, a pretty young blond thing. Sam fought the glower threatening to twist his features. It was none of his business what Dean was doing, even if he was doing it more than usual. Dean being Dean, he immediately forgot about the co-ed and leaned both elbows on the table. "So, you find us a case yet?"<p>

Sam let the newspaper in his hands drop down onto the table. "I think so. Check this out. Over the last year, six guys have been murdered. All were in relationships, and had been in them for at least three months."

Dean flagged down another waitress, but he stayed focused on Sam. "And?"

"And, one of the suspected killers – " he glanced down at the paper – "Colin Baxter, was just found dead. It says he'd been dead for at _least_ two weeks and his boyfriend was only killed two days ago. Friends and family swear they saw Colin alive in the last two weeks."

Dean's green eyes lit up with interest. "You think it's like St. Louis? Another shapeshifter."

"Exactly." He grinned. "I think we're dealing with a shapeshifter. God knows why its going after couples." He paused as the waitress came by to take their food orders. He ordered a salad, which made Dean roll his eyes and mutter about how Sam should order something more substantial because he needed his strength.

Moments like this, he could almost pretend things were back the way they used to be. Before _It_ happened six months ago. Despite their best efforts, nothing had been quite the same since. Dean had always liked the ladies but, except for a brief drop off right after _It_, he'd been going through them double time. Some times, he might find two girls in the same night. They were both drinking more, though Sam was still a light weight in comparison to his brother. He'd tried to bury the past with sex too. Just the other night, he'd picked up a real nice girl and gone back to her place. But every encounter ended the same – with the girl under him disappearing and his older brother taking her place.

At least they were talking.

Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Sammy, hey. Earth to Sam."

He blinked at him, realizing he'd gotten lost in his thoughts. "Oh, sorry. I was just…"

"Thinking. Yeah, I got that." The words weren't biting, as they easily could've been. They were almost soft. Fond. "Anyway, the case?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "We need to figure out how this thing is choosing its targets. Since it just killed a couple of days ago, there's a good chance it's still shopping around for a new relationship to destroy."

"So tomorrow we go through the histories of all the vic's and see if there's any common places. Work places, coffee shops, grocery stores."

"Pretty much." It would be long, tedious hours of research. Dean would probably call it quits after an hour; he didn't have the patience for research like Sam did. Instead, he'd probably start cleaning the weapons or leave to scope some place out. That was alright with Sam; when bored, his brother could be more than a little distracting. "We probably should look into the others too, the ones he framed for murder, since we don't know which one he's really using as a deciding factor."

"Great," Dean said without enthusiasm. "More research." He perked up when the waitress brought their food. Although if he was more interested in the double cheeseburger with bacon or the dark-haired woman, Sam wasn't sure.

He tucked into his grilled chicken salad, ignoring the way Dean flirted with the waitress, offering her a couple of his fries. If Sam had tried taking them, he probably would've been stabbed in the hand. But if it meant some more sex, well, then, by all means. _I'll suck your damn dick. You don't need her._ Shit. He stabbed his lettuce with more force than was strictly necessary. He wasn't supposed to let himself have those kinds of thoughts. _Just brothers. Like before._ That was his mantra. If it were possible to _will_ himself back to being normal – or whatever passed for normal with him – he was goddamned going to do it.

Dean grinned at him as the waitress walked away. "She gets off in an hour." He waggled his brows. "Off work, anyway."

"Really, Dean? Two tonight? We've got research to do tomorrow."

"Oh, live a little, Sammy." He dug into his burger, pure pleasure on his face. Sam instantly flashed back to the dark motel room, Dean under him, expression tense with pleasure. He cursed silently at himself some more, trying to wrestle the memories back into their box labeled "Do Not Open."

Behind Dean, the bar's door opened and a man walked in. He was about Dean's height, early thirties, and dirty blond. His t-shirt was stretched taut over broad shoulders and tucked into his jeans at his narrow waist. He scanned the bar and his eyes settled on Sam, a smile curving his lips. Then his head tilted, dark eyes looking at Sam appraisingly, before he moved to a spot at the bar.

It wasn't the first time Sam had been checked out by a guy. He was far from vain, but he knew he was attractive. He took care of himself, didn't dress like a complete slob. But he'd never looked back. He was into girls, after all. Always had been. Hell, he'd come damn close to marrying one. This time, Sam looked back. He assessed the blond while Dean was preoccupied with his dinner and his waitress. He was certainly attractive, very much so. A thought occurred to him. What if something had been awakened in him after _It_ happened? Just because he'd always been attracted to girls didn't mean he _couldn't_ be attracted to men. Finding out he was bisexual would make a fucking lot more sense than suddenly sprouting incestuous feelings about his brother. _It_ had just brought to life feelings that Sam hadn't known he had towards men – not his brother. It wasn't _Dean_ that he wanted – it was just men in general.

At least, that was the theory. And he was going to test it tonight with the attractive blond man. He glanced at Dean, who was eyeballing the waitress's ass. Assuming he was still there when Dean left with her, anyway.

Sam finished his salad, feeling hopeful. If this was it, that he was just bi, he could more than live with that. There was nothing _wrong_ with being into guys. Being into your brother, on the other hand…well, that was an entirely different story.

Forty minutes later, Dean grinned at him as he walked out of the bar, the waitress giggling on his arm. Sam got to his feet and made his way over to the bar. He was nervous. He'd never been the best at picking up women – too awkward, too shy – and this was an entirely new ball game. He decided to just try to play it simple.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The blond man looked up at him and smiled. "Actually, how about I buy you one?"

Sam flushed a little and sat down next to him. "Yeah, alright."

He ordered new drinks for the both of him, turning on the bar stool to face Sam. "I saw your date leave with the girl. Ouch."

"My date? Oh, god, no." He shook his head. "He's my brother."

The man's eyes widened and he laughed. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry. I guess I just assumed…" He waved his hand. "Again, sorry. Although, I can't say I'm disappointed." He offered Sam his hand. "Mason."

Sam took his hand. It was warm, not callused like his. Like Dean's. "Sam."

Mason took a sip of his beer. "I haven't seen you around before."

"We're just passing through." This wasn't so different from what he was used to. He could do this, no problem.

"Oh yeah? Where are you from?"

"Nowhere, really. We've always kind of moved from place to place."

He nodded in understanding. "Army brats?"

Well, you could say that. It was as good an explanation as any. "Yeah. Our dad was a marine."

"Did you ever serve? You've kind of got the look of a guy who knows how to use his weapon."

Heat crept up the back of Sam's neck as he realized Mason definitely wasn't talking about guns. "N-no. I didn't. I went to Stanford for a while. Pre-law. It didn't work out."

"Why not?"

Sam just shrugged. "Family stuff. You know how it is."

Mason just nodded. "Yeah, I hear you. So you and your brother are road-tripping?"

"Yeah, seeing the country and all." He sipped his beer, hating how easily the lies slipped off of his lips. For about the millionth time, he wished he had a life where he didn't have to lie to everyone he met.

"Always wanted to do that." He took another drink of his beer, his eyes settled on Sam. "Maybe you could tell me about some of the places you've been. Back at my place."

Heat flickered up Sam's spine. There it was, the invitation. "Yeah," he said gruffly, "I'd like that."

Mason grinned. "Great. I live a couple miles away." They got up and left the bar. Dean had taken the Impala, so Sam rode with Mason back to his place. The ride wasn't awkward at all. They kept up the conversation, Sam sharing some civilianized stories of some of the more interesting towns he'd been to while Mason asked questions. Mason's hand rested on Sam's thigh as he drove. It was weird, having a man touching him like that. But it wasn't bad.

The exterior of the house wasn't much to talk about, but it was nice inside. Mason had told him in the car that he was renovating it and it showed. Not that Sam had much time to look around. As soon as they were inside, Mason took one of Sam's hands and drew him close. Even though Sam had an inch or two on him, he felt like he was looking up at him. He was out of his element here; the roles were completely reversed from what he was familiar with. Mason was in charge.

He pressed Sam back into the wall and stepped in close. Sam could feel the heat of his body. Mason's lips curved into a smile. "You haven't really done this much, have you?"

Sam caught himself smiling back. "No, not really."

"We'll go slow." He leaned up and pressed his lips to Sam's. After a moment of hesitation, Sam kissed him back, resting his arms around Mason's waist. This was weird too, but, still, not bad. Mason was in command, his tongue sliding into Sam's mouth to tangle with his. It wasn't hard for Sam to relax and respond rather than lead.

They kissed for a while. He wasn't sure how long; the minutes kind of blended together. Eventually, Mason's hands started to move on him, tugging up the back of his shirt and sliding over his back, then around to his stomach, his chest. And it wasn't bad. But…it wasn't _good_ either. It just…was. Sam wasn't hot, he realized. He wasn't filled with need or turned on. His dick was practically yawning it was so disinterested in what was going on. A sick, twisted feeling made him shut his eyes and imagine something else when Mason's hands came up to play with his nipples. Callused fingers replaced his, rasping against his skin. _That_ sent a shudder down Sam's spine and a tingle into his cock. But that feeling disappeared when he opened his eyes and looked at Mason again. There was only one conclusion, no matter how much Sam might wish otherwise.

He wasn't into it. He wasn't bi. He just wanted to fuck his brother.

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><p>"Oh, yes, yes, <em>yes<em>, Dean," moaned the writhing waitress, her hands buried in Dean's short hair. Dean looked up at her from his position between her legs. Her head was tossing back and forth on the pillow, raven tresses fanned out over the off-white material. Her heavy breasts heaved as she panted for breath, the dusky pink nipples drawn up tight in the cool motel room air. His cock was hard and aching where it pressed into the mattress and it throbbed as he took in the sight before him.

For the briefest moment, the soft female body under him turned hard and muscled. Hazel eyes gazed at him from under heavy lids. Dean let the movement of his body chase that thought away; he left his position between her legs and slid up her pliant body. She made a soft sound of approval as she drew his head down and kissed him passionately, moaning even louder when she tasted herself on his tongue. Dean poured himself into the kiss even while one hand reached over to pick up the condom he'd dropped on the night stand. He pulled back only so he could tear the foil open with his teeth.

With a rakish grin, he said, "Put it on me," and held the unwrapped condom out to her between two fingers.

The waitress – whose name he had forgotten as soon as she told him – giggled and took the condom. Even as her soft fingers danced over his cock while she rolled the condom on, he had to bite back a flicker of annoyance. Always with the fucking giggling.

As soon as the condom was in place, he kissed her again and buried himself in her heat. He'd already gotten off once with one of her co-workers, but he wouldn't have known it if he hadn't been there. He was incredibly worked up already, filled with the need to have more. He needed to _thrust_, and he didn't bother to give her a few slow preliminary thrusts. He slid one arm under her hips to arch her up and fell into an almost punishing rhythm. Fortunately, she ate it up, her acrylic finger nails running up and down his back. Fortunately because he didn't know if he could've slowed down.

Running, running. He was always trying to escape. Escape the thoughts that plagued him. Only there was no physical distance he could achieve that would take those thoughts away, so he was doing what he did best: burying them in sex. As long as he was thinking about this warm, willing woman under him, he wasn't thinking about the other thing.

Or, at least, that was how it was supposed to work. His resolve always failed him in moments exactly like this, where his control was frayed and he was getting close to his orgasm. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to keep looking down at the beautiful waitress, but, against his will, his eyes slid shut and a new vision took over.

"_Dean," Sam moaned gutturally. He clung to his older brother, arms and legs wrapped around him. Dean buried himself inside of his little brother hard and fast, his hands gripped at his hips with bruising force, but he didn't try to pull himself back from the savagery. Sammy was a big boy; he wasn't going to break from a little rough handling. He could take anything Dean gave him. Take it and love it, judging by the harsher breaths the younger man was taking. "Dean, oh – oh God. Don't stop. I'm going to – "He broke off with a strangled shout as he bucked beneath Dean in his orgasm._

His eyes still clenched shut tight, Dean let out a soft cry as he came, the fantasy shattering around him.

Anger and self-loathing descended upon him like vultures on a carcass. He couldn't believe he had gone there _again_. After all the long talks he'd had with himself, all the recriminations, his pleasure-drenched brain still dredged up fantasies of his _brother_ when in the heat of the moment. Disgusted at himself, he rolled away from the waitress and got up, unceremoniously disposing of the used condom.

Oblivious to the turmoil in his head, the woman smiled in satisfaction and stretched on the bed, rolling over onto her side to face him. "That was great, Dean. How about a rest and then another round?"

"There won't be another round." He was looking for his boxers now. What had he done with them? "It's time for you to go."

She glared at him and sat up. "Hey! This isn't some slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am thing. I'm better than that."

"Yeah, well, I'm not." He finally found his boxers and pulled them on, then his pants. "It was great and all, but it's late and I've got to do things tomorrow."

"You fucking asshole!" She got up and angrily yanked on her clothes. "You're just like all the other trash that comes through the bar."

He glared at her. "Yeah, and you're the one who fucked me. If I'm trash, you're the one who likes to roll in it."

Her face was flushed with anger. "Fuck you, you bastard." She gathered up the rest of her things. At the door, she stopped and turned back to look at him, "And my name is _Samantha_, not Sam." She flipped him the bird as she slammed the door behind her.

Oh…shit. He'd said Sam's name? When? He cast his mind back, but, honestly, he could've been spouting anything during that little brain vacation. His mind had been all about the Sam action; only the very angry girl leaving the motel knew what had actually come out of his mouth. But if he _had_ said Sam's name, then this obsession of his was getting worse. As if thinking about fucking his brother wasn't bad enough, now he was getting so immersed in his fantasies that he was calling his name. Somehow he had to put a stop to it, but he didn't know how. Going without sex wasn't an answer. He'd dropped off for nearly a month after the thing happened, and he'd woken up nearly every morning with a raging hard on and a dream about Sam teasing at the edges of his memory. At least now the dreams weren't as frequent. He hadn't had one for almost a week.

Like that was something to celebrate.

He stormed off to take a shower. A very, very cold shower. He had just finished dressing for bed – meaning he'd put his boxers on – when the door opened and Sam walked in. Dean narrowed his eyes on his brother. The younger man was uncharacteristically rumpled. His hair was tousled, like someone had run their fingers through it. His shirt was wrinkled, as if someone had been clutching at it. His lips were vaguely red. Not too long ago, he'd been kissing someone. Irrational, but no less fiery, anger clenched in Dean's gut. Sam had been with someone tonight.

"Where the fuck have you been?" He snarled. Part of him knew he should pull back, stop being such a dick. He'd literally been inside of a girl not even an hour ago. Why shouldn't Sam get himself some? But the new part of him was seething in jealousy. The part of him that had emerged in the last six months that had ground its teeth in stony, jealous silence every time Sam picked up a girl. Guess which side was currently in control of his mouth and ready to vent.

"Out," was all Sam said, jacking Dean's temper higher.

Dean kicked at his bag on the floor as if it was in his way, making it skid a few inches away from him. "Don't you think you should've been here, instead of off with some tramp?"

Sam glared at him and jerked his jacket off, throwing it against one of the chairs. "That's real rich, coming from you. I bet you didn't even get the name of either of the girls you fucked tonight. I can have sex if I want to, Dean." He kicked out of his boots. "You need to get off your high goddamn horse before you hurt yourself."

As Sam continued to undress, Dean only got angrier – at himself. Sam was getting ready for bed or a shower and Dean was ogling him. He climbed into his bed and punched the pillow a few times. "You're the one who's always bitching at me over all the girls I bang. And here you are, staying out until all hours." He yanked the blanket over his lap in case his cock got any bad ideas while Sam was putting on his skin show.

When Sam was in nothing but his underwear, he went to the bathroom, but paused to glare at Dean before he went inside. "I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but you better pull it out by morning." He slammed the bathroom door after himself.

_Great, Dean. Real fucking smooth_. God, he was so fucked up for being _jealous_ of the girl Sam went home with tonight. Even more fucked up for giving semi-serious consideration to climbing into the shower with him right now.

He pretended to be asleep when Sam came out of the bathroom. He didn't watch him get ready for bed; he just squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself to fall asleep. He just wanted a few hours without thinking inappropriate thoughts. A few hours to get himself back in order. It took a long while, but he finally managed to fall asleep. And in sleep, he began to dream.

_"Dean," Sam laughed, falling back onto the bed. His naked chest gleamed in the light from the bedside lamp._

_ Dean purred in appreciation as he dropped to his knees by the bed, his hands sliding over Sam's denim-clad thighs. "Now I've got you right where I want you."_

_ "What are you going to do," his younger brother asked breathlessly. "Eat me?"_

_ Dean's hands went to the fly of his jeans, angling for his prize. "Yes."_


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, everyone. I am so extremely sorry that it's taken so long to get this chapter out. But, let me tell you, it's been a bitch. This will, hopefully, be the least sexy chapter in the story, which is probably one reason it's taken me so long to write it. I guess this is what I get for giving the boys an actual case to solve.

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><p><em>Sam looked up at his brother as his hips surged into Dean's tight heat. The older man groaned and braced his hands behind him on Sam's thighs – a move he'd no doubt learned from one of his many one-nighters. His face was pulled tight in pleasure and pain as he thrust himself up and down on Sam's cock. Dean's amazingly green eyes were clenched shut as was usual for him, but not Sam's. No, he was drinking in his fill, unable to tear his gaze away from his brother's perfect features. <em>God, he really was fucking gorgeous,_ he thought._

_ He let out a moan as Dean took his full lower lip between his teeth, the plump flesh giving way under the pearly whites. Dean's movements became harder, faster as Sam reached up and gently fisted his cock. Suddenly, Dean's lashes parted and Sam was staring directly into dazzling, familiar green eyes. That was all it took to drive him over the edge and – _

Sam awoke to blinding pleasure and Dean's name on his lips. He clenched his jaw as he rode out the last waves of his dream-induced orgasm in silence. Christ, that dream again. He'd been having that one a lot, probably because it wasn't really a dream; it was a memory, one from the third and final day of the curse. He didn't want to say it was his favorite, because he was ashamed to be thinking about it at all. However, next to the thigh-fucking memories, it was the one that really revved his engine. Both were times where Dean had been in charge of things. What that said about Sam, he didn't want to contemplate.

He got up and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. He avoided meeting his own gaze in the mirror, too ashamed to even look at himself. He was completely and utterly out of excuses. His attraction for his brother wasn't brought on by magic and it wasn't confused bisexuality. He flat out just wanted to fuck his big brother. And, as sick as that was, he also felt just a little relief. Even though it wasn't the answer he'd wanted, it was a rock-solid one. No more "what if's" to tease him. He had his answer and he would deal with it in the only way that he could: repress, repress, repress. That was pretty much the family motto, after all.

Just as he was finishing up in the bathroom, he heard the outer door open, followed by Dean's voice. "Sam?"

Right then. Time to face him, just like he had done every morning since the curse. He barely even gave a thought to the fight they had had last night. Ever since _it_, they'd both been on edge a lot of the time. Sparks were bound to fly.

He went into the main room to find Dean placing bags of Mickey D's on the table. "You seemed to be sleeping in, so I figured I'd get breakfast." He took a seat and tore into one of the bags.

Sam paused as he rooted through his duffle bag for clean clothes and tossed an old t-shirt at Dean's head. "I was not 'sleeping in.'" He checked the clock. "It's not even nine."

"For you, Sammy, that is sleeping in." Dean threw the shirt back at Sam and attacked his breakfast. Without looking up, he said, "I'm sorry about last night."

Sam frowned at Dean's back, clean shirt in hand. It wasn't like Dean to offer apologies. He usually just ignored things until they went away or tried to kill him. "It's alright, Dean."

"Bullshit." He polished off his first breakfast muffin. "I was a dick, and I picked a fight with you."

Sam drew his shirt on and took a seat at the table across from Dean. "I won't argue with you there." He pulled one of the paper sacks towards himself. As far as he was concerned, the previous night's argument was forgotten. He had bigger things on his mind, not the least of which was the town's resident shapeshifter.

"So, anyway, while you were out, I did some quick research on our case." Dean wrapped his lips around the straw of his drink and took a pull, his cheeks hollowing just a little with the suction. Immediately, Sam's pants tightened. He forced himself to look away and focus on his breakfast. Dean continued, oblivious to his discomfort. "The article that brought us here was pretty tight lipped about the victims, but a quick google search gave me a little intel. Did you know all the vics were gay?"

"Were they?" The article he'd found hadn't listed any specifics about the other five suspected killers, only the last one.

"Well, if they weren't, they were doing a damn good impression of it." Dean dug into some hash browns. "The more interesting thing is, none of these were new relationships. The latest vic was the shortest, three months. But one of the couples – the second vic and his partner – were together for something like ten years. The ages are totally mixed up too. Last guy was in his thirties, first guy was over fifty, and the third was only twenty-two."

Sam leaned back in his chair, pondering the information Dean had given him. "So basically, these guys don't seem to have anything in common except that they're gay."

"Pretty much, yeah." Dean took another long drink. "How many gay bars you think this town has?"

He rolled his eyes. "Dean, just because they're gay doesn't mean they automatically go to gay bars."

"I go to straight bars."

"Yeah, well, you're…you."

Dean puffed up briefly but then expelled his breath with a grin. "Yeah, true."

Sam balled up the wrapper of his breakfast and tossed it towards the trash can. "You're right though. We need to check out any bars in the area that they might have frequented. It's the easiest thing to look into."

Dean busily tucked into another breakfast muffin. How his brother managed to eat so much and never gain an ounce, Sam would never know. When his mouth was less full, he said, "So we'll check that out after we throw the monkey suits on and talk to the cops."

"We should talk to some of the families too, but yeah, sounds good to me."

A few minutes later after Dean finally finished his heart-attack-in-a-sack breakfast, they changed into their FBI get up and hit the road. Dean claimed the driver's seat, which was fine with Sam. His head couldn't stop straying places it wasn't supposed to go. He kept looking at Dean's hands. He knew that they were rough and callused from guns and knives, but they held the steering wheel with familiar ease. He watched as Dean would remove one to emphasize whatever he was talking about before placing his hand back on the wheel, grip loose and relaxed. And he remembered those hands clenched tight in cheap motel sheets. Remembered how they felt when they clutched at his back…

He ripped his eyes away and placed them firmly on the asphalt ahead of them. That was definitely not the train of thought he needed right now.

They arrived at the station and, when Sam got out of the car, if his pants seemed to be fitting tighter than usual, he certainly didn't have a clue why.

Inside, they flashed their badges and introduced themselves as Agents Hetfield and Seger. As always, Sam felt a brief frisson of uncertainty as the badges were checked out by the intake officer. However, as always (or almost always), everything checked out and their stories were bought.

"So," Officer Kendricks started, "what brings the feds our way?" Sam didn't like the look of this guy. Besides the fact that he was reed thin with a rat-like face and stringy yellow hair, he held himself like a guy with something to prove.

"We'd like to talk to the sheriff about the string of killings that have been taking place." Dean pretended to check his notepad for names. "Most recently was Matt Booker."

"Oh, _those_ murders." The way he said it told Sam all the man thought about what was going on. From his demeanor, he didn't seem too concerned with the matter. Sam was sure that if it were six women who had been murdered, he'd be spitting mad about it. "Why is the FBI concerned with it?"

Sam frowned at him, shifting into a stance that made it much more apparent that he loomed over the other man. He didn't often like to use his height to intimidate people, but he judged this to be one of those necessary times. For reasons. "You could have a serial killer on your hands. That's right in our neck of the woods."

The officer scoffed. "We know who did the murders. Their gay lovers."

Sam was about to say something, but Dean cut in. "We'd like to talk to the sheriff. Thanks." His voice was brittle. He didn't seem to appreciate the officer's attitude either.

Muttering to himself, Kendricks waved them behind the desk and led them to the sheriff's office.

The sheriff, a robust, balding man, looked up as they entered. "What's this?" He sounded like he'd gotten up and had a big bowl of gravel for breakfast.

"Sheriff, this is Agent Hetfield" – motioning to Dean – "and Agent Seger" – motioning to Sam – "of the FBI. They're here about the gay murders."

The sheriff scowled at Kendricks and rose to his feet. "Alright, thank you for showing them in." When the other man didn't seem inclined to leave, he was given a pointed look. "That's all now."

After he reluctantly left and shut the door after himself, the sheriff came around the desk and shook hands with Sam and Dean. "I'm Alan Mullaney. You're looking into the murders we've had here?"

"That's right," Dean confirmed. "Have you ever had anything like happen around here before?"

Sheriff Mullaney took his seat behind his desk again. "God, no. We've always been a pretty quiet town. We'd have the odd killing, you know, like any place else. Drug related things, muggings, robberies gone wrong, but nothing like this. And, I'll tell you, this was all pretty clear cut up until a couple of days ago."

Sam took a seat in front of the desk and Dean took the other chair. "That's when you found Colin Baxter's body?"

The older man nodded. "Yeah. I've checked with the coroner three times and he swears that all evidence suggests Baxter was killed two weeks before he killed Matt Booker."

"But you have evidence that suggests Baxter killed him?"

"An eye witness saw Colin Baxter leaving Matt Booker's house the morning before his body was found that same evening. The vic's mother was the one who found him. Coroner's report put his death as between five and seven am. And, to top it off, there were no signs of forced entry on the house. I ask you, who else could've killed him?"

"It's definitely a mystery," Dean said. "Listen, do you think we could get the files on that case and the rest of them?"

"Sure, sure." The man rose from behind his desk and went to one of the filing cabinets. He spoke as he rifled through one of the drawers. "Truth be told, I'm glad you're on this now. Besides the fact that it's caused a stir with some people, I've been damned stumped about it myself. Maybe a couple fresh pairs of eyes will see something I couldn't." He removed a stack of files and offered them to Dean. "You know, I know we're not the smallest of towns, but some people around here seem permanently stuck in the fifties."

Sam nodded in understanding as he rose to his feet. "Some people don't want to change." _And some are forced to_.

Dean also got up. "Thanks for the info, sheriff. We'll let you know if we find anything."

The sheriff walked to the door and held it open for them. "Let me know if my department can be of use to you, agents."

Out in the Impala, Sam idly flipped open the top file, which belonged to the first victim. "So," he said as he skimmed the info, "you want to look this over first and then talk to families, or vice versa?"

Dean started the car. "Let's do the family thing first." He motioned to himself with one hand while pulling out of the parking lot. "We're already in the monkey suits."

That was true enough. He gave Dean the directions to Colin Baxter's parent's house. They'd get some info on their "killer" and then head over to the Booker residence. He shuffled the stack of files until he could pull out the one for Matt Booker, but, as he tried to read it, his mind strayed. Not even to anything in particular, it just refused to focus on the words in front of his eyes.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked out the window even though his eyes wanted to be drawn over to Dean. These moments were the hardest. It was downright easy when he had something to focus on, like back in the police station. He had a purpose. In these moments, when it was just him and Dean and the road, though, his mind had time to circle around from work to personal drama. Like a moth to a fucking flame.

Mercifully, it was a short trip to the home of Jeremy and Linda Baxter. They approached the front door and rung the bell. A moment later, a tired looking woman with greying hair opened the door.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

They flashed their badges again. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Agent Hetfield. This is my partner Agent Seger. We'd like to talk to you about your son, Colin."

What little light there was in her eyes dimmed. "Oh, of course. Why don't you come in?" She stepped back and let them into the house.

They sat down in the living room. The walls were covered in photographs. Everything from graduations to hikes. Family memories. Sam tried to avoid looking at them the same way he tried to avoid looking at Dean, but for different reasons. Mrs. Baxter quietly offered them refreshments, which they declined.

Dean was the first to speak. "Ma'am, I would first like to assure you that we are not looking at your son as the killer."

She looked at him sharply; it was obviously the last thing she had expected to hear. "Pardon me?"

"Your son was killed two weeks before his partner was killed. The evidence is pretty conclusive about that. So no, we don't think it was him."

Her relief was palpable. Even though she didn't have to worry about her son going to jail, it was freeing to know that his name wouldn't be dragged through the mud by them. "Then why are you here?"

"Your son was the person closest to Matt Booker. We'd like to find out more about Colin and how they were together. Were they happy?"

She smiled sadly. "They were very happy. Every time I talked to Colin, Matt was the only thing on his mind. He had stars in his eyes when he looked at that boy." She looked up at one of the pictures on the wall. It looked like a high school graduation. Colin had his arms around both of his parents, a huge grin on his face. "Agents, if my son was – was killed two weeks before poor Matt was, then who was the man Matt was seeing? My friend, Dotty, told me three days before Matt was found that she'd seen them both at the grocer's."

"We think," Sam said, "that someone was impersonating your son."

"But how is that possible?"

"We're going to find out," he assured her. Even though she would never hear about it, the shapeshifter would be brought to justice. Winchester justice.

They talked to her for about a half hour before they left. They didn't get anything particularly useful from her (not that Sam had expected to). But the one thing they did get was interesting. Colin had started acting differently about a month before Matt was killed. Normally, he called his mom nearly every day to see how she and his father were doing. Calls had dropped to once a week and then not at all, meaning the calls had stopped about the time that the real Colin Baxter was killed. To Sam, this indicated that the shifter wasn't that dedicated to keeping up the charade beyond the lover he was trying to fool. Additionally, it helped to give them an idea of a timeline. The shifter had been walking around in Colin's skin for at least two weeks before killing the host. That was actually a good sign. It meant that, even if the shifter had already picked a new skin to hang onto, the guy he was wearing was almost certainly still alive.

After speaking to Mrs. Baxter, they drove across town to talk to Matt Booker's parents. They told the boys about the same thing that Mrs. Baxter had. The boys had been crazy about each other. All full of the warm fuzzies. The perfect couple. Until oops, they're dead.

Instead of heading back to the motel to look over the files, they decided to get lunch and then go straight to the only gay bar in town, The Cellar. Sam did his best to maintain conversation while he ate his Cobb salad and Dean made love to his double bacon burger. For some reason, he was having a lot of difficulty keeping his mind out of the gutter. Maybe it had something to do with the reality he had been forced to accept the night before. Not bi, not cursed, just lusting after Dean. It was a hard pill to swallow (haha), despite the modicum of relief that having a concrete answer brought. At the same time, it was also kind of funny in a shitty sort of way. He had always been the one who wanted to be normal. The one who cared about things normal kids cared about. Now he was well and truly the freak.

* * *

><p>As they walked into The Cellar around five, Dean stopped to look around. To be honest, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Velvet and throw pillows in the booths. Gaudy table cloths and disco music. Scantily clad men in cages hanging from the ceiling. But, for some reason, what he found was a surprise. It was just…normal. It was a bar. Tables, chairs. The same as any of the hundreds of bars that Dean had been to in the past. The only difference was that it was the women who were flirting with the pretty waitress.<p>

The man behind the bar slid appraising eyes their direction as they approached. At first, Dean thought the come-fuck-me look was for him. He was even preparing himself to be slipped this well-muscled man's number (not that he'd do anything with it besides toss it). Only that look wasn't for Dean. It was Sam who was getting once-overed.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" The guy asked in a deep baritone.

"Yeah, I'm Agent Hetfield," Dean said sharply. "This is my partner, Agent Seger."

Sam gave him a side-ways look at his tone, but shook it off and addressed the bartender. "We're looking into the murders of six gay men. The local police at first thought they were killed by their partners."

The guy nodded. "Yeah. Didn't one of those suspects turn up dead?"

"Yes, and that's why we're investigating." Sam took out the pictures he'd taken from the files and laid them on the bar top. "Do you know any of these men?"

The bartender perused the photos, leaning against the bar, noticeably towards Sam. Dean didn't like it one goddamn bit, but he knew it was totally insane. Not only was Sam not gay, he also wasn't Dean's property. Just because Dean was having issues, didn't mean he needed to put them on Sam's admittedly broad shoulders.

"I only know him," he said, pointing to the second victim.

Sam gathered up the pictures. The bartender picked one up to hand to him and their fingers brushed as Sam took it. Dean caught the little smile on the guy's face which made Dean want to punch him so bad his fingers itched. _No right_, he reminded himself. No right to feel so fucking jealous.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, none of the others came in here?"

"If they did, it was on my night off."

Sam made a little _hmph_ noise. "Can you think of any other spots in town they might frequent?"

The bartender's lips quirked up. "You mean spots they might go because they're gay?" When Sam spluttered, he laughed. "Yeah, actually. A lot of guys I know started going to this new gym, Point Fitness. It's not what I'd call a gay gym, but it's gotten really popular among the scene." As Sam thanked him, he pulled over a napkin and scrawled his number on it. "And, hey, my name's Eric. Give me a call if you need anything."

A flush rode up Sam's neck and he stuffed the napkin into his pocket. Dean lost the battle and outright glared at the bartender. "He's straight," he said, sharp enough to cut glass. He was still glaring as Sam pulled him out of the bar.

"Dude, what the hell was that," Sam asked when they were finally back in the parking lot.

"What was what?" Not that he didn't know. Obviously he knew that he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. _He's your brother for fucks sake. Stop feeling this shit._

"Come on, Dean, you were five different kinds of aggressive in there." Sam paced around in front of Baby. "Is this about…is this about the thing? I mean, do you hate gay people now or something?" As Dean reeled back, Sam rushed ahead. "I'd understand, you know. What happened it – it had to mess with your head. I get that. But it's not _their_ fault. You shouldn't take it out on them."

Dean held his hands up. "Whoa, no. Okay, just, no. Stop. I don't – I'm not – I'm not a 'phobe or anything, okay? What happened…the curse, this isn't about that." Well, it _was_ but not the way Sam thought. "I've got nothing against gay people. Or any kind of sexuality. You do you or whatever."

"Are you sure?" Sam looked at him with those brown puppy dog eyes. "It's not that I wouldn't understand why you'd have issues."

"For fuck's sake. I'm _sure_, Sam. I didn't morph into a bigot just because – " _just because you stuck your dick in me_ was what he was going to say before he thought better of it. "I'm just fine, okay?"

Sam frowned at him. "Then what the _hell_ was that about?"

_I was insanely jealous that Eric the pretty boy wanted a piece of your fine ass, because I, sickly, think that that ass should be mine._ "It was nothing. Just didn't like him. Specifically him, not gay people."

His brother continued to frown but he finally let the matter drop.

They drove to Point Fitness in silence. Dean tried hard to keep his mind focused on the matter at hand instead of Sam. His little brother had always had a spot at the forefront of his mind, but not like this. Before it had been, "When did Sam eat last? Is he warm enough?" That type of thing. Now his thoughts were a lot more X rated and just generally focused on not-brotherly areas. Even now, he wanted to rest his hand on Sam's thigh as he drove. He never would've thought he'd be so into PDA, but he supposed he must be. He was constantly censoring his actions around his brother now. What he wouldn't fucking give to just be normal again. To stop having these feelings that he had no right to feel. It was ten times more of a curse than the one the witch had cast on him.

Inside Point Fitness, they approached the reception desk. Behind it was a slim, perky blond guy who grinned in that well-practiced sort of way that receptionists did. "Hi there! Can I help you?"

While Sam did the introductions, Dean looked around the place. A fair number of the male clientele were checking both he and Sam out. He tamped down hard on his jealousy and refocused himself on the matter at hand. It looked like Eric the Bartender was right. This would be a perfect hunting ground for an (apparently gay) shapeshifter.

They spoke to the manager. He was one of those nondescript people. Average looking brown hair, dull brown eyes, round face. A face that got lost in the crowd. He was able to confirm that all of the victims, as well as three of the suspects, had been members of the gym.

"That's great news," Sam said. "Do you think we could get a record of members who haven't shown up here in the last month?" It only took Dean a moment to catch on to where Sam's mind was. Much like the shifter had stopped talking to Mrs. Baxter, there would be no need to come in to the gym once the shifter had chosen a new skin. The manager was more than helpful and they walked out of there with a small stack of papers.

Sam was all ready to head back to the motel and do some research, but Dean had had enough for one day. He just shook his head as Sam suggested research. "Look man, I'm beat. Let's just go get dinner."

Sam rolled his eyes but swung himself into the passenger seat. "Just what you need, another cheeseburger."

Dean grinned as he got behind the wheel. "Hey, I may not get a burger. I might get a steak." For a fleeting moment, everything clicked into place and Dean felt normal again, like nothing had changed. They were bantering. Then he looked at his brother and caught himself admiring the way the waning sun shone in Sam's curly brown hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it.

Goddamn him.

* * *

><p>I sincerely hope the next chapter will be up next Monday or sooner. I think everybody will like it quite a lot. ;)<p> 


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